


I Want (You) to Come Over

by thebright1



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Angst (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Good Omens Lockdown, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:54:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23956435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebright1/pseuds/thebright1
Summary: Post-Lockdown fic. Aziraphale doesn't like the rules any more than Crowley does. But he has an idea . . .
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 137
Collections: Good Omens Lockdown fics





	I Want (You) to Come Over

**Author's Note:**

> I spent all day trying not to write Lockdown fic. I've written Lockdown fic.

Aziraphale hangs up the phone. The shop, which had seemed to suddenly come alive with the noise and excitement of recounting his last few weeks to Crowley, is now silent once more. He can hear the tick of the clock in the other room, counting off the seconds, minutes, hours. The space between each tick seems to take longer and longer. The thick absence of sound is loud in his ears. 

The bookshop hadn’t seemed this quiet earlier. Or, if it had, the quiet hadn’t felt so heavy and oppressive. Before his call, it had felt calming, peaceful. Dare he say it, _heavenly_ (at least, his definition of heaven). Now it weighs in on him. He clears his throat, hoping to break the tension in the air. It doesn’t work. The room swallows the noise from him like the last crumb of cake. He had been hoping for a bit more conversation, if he’s honest. A diversion. Instead, he’d found himself facing a temptation. 

_You know, I could hunker down at your place. Slither over and watch you eat cake. I could bring a bottle of . . . A case of something drinkable._

A tempting temptation at that. He looks mournfully at the empty sofa, pictures Crowley lounging there, limbs akimbo. _He’d probably just complain about how bored he still is, except he’d be able to complain about it to me instead of his plants._ Or maybe not. Maybe together, it wouldn’t be so bad. He could bake for Crowley. The demon is not much for sweets, but he had seen a recipe for devil’s food cake with bourbon icing-- that would probably lure him in. Crowley likes everything where alcohol is concerned. 

Thinking up your _own_ temptations now? he curses himself. He knew calling Crowley was a bad idea. Give in to one temptation and the next thing you know you’re miracling in cherries and you’ve baked so many cakes you can’t possibly eat them all and you have to give them away to angry young men looking to steal from you. 

He’d let the teenagers stay far longer than they should have, although he had insisted that they all stay exactly two meters apart. It made for some awkward conversation, but everyone had been safe. Aziraphale looks at the sofa again. With a flick of his wrist he pushes it an extra few inches away. Almost two meters he thinks. Maybe Crowley could come over. 

_Obviously, you’re not actually going to get ill, or even spread a disease. . ._

Aziraphale tugs on his waistcoat, feeling the almost threadbare fabric under his fingertips. He walks slowly, making a circuit of the bookstore. He hasn’t felt the closeness of the space during the past few weeks nearly as much as he feels it now. He’d wanted to hear what Crowley had been up to. He had assumed Crowley had been out and about. He’d been looking forward to hearing about his adventures in the great wide world. Instead, Crowley had been . . . well, what _had_ he been doing? Aziraphale didn’t know. Crowley didn’t say. Was he watching television? Playing games on his phone? Causing mischief on the Internet? 

Obviously he was so bored that he was probably going to go to sleep soon. And he was going to sleep for two months. 

Aziraphale looks at the phone. Two months didn’t feel like a long time to sleep. Not comparatively, not for Crowley, with his immortal lifespan, and his nearly century-long naps. 

The last time Crowley had gone to bed this long was after he and Aziraphale fought. 

The thought strikes Aziraphale, making him stumble over his own feet. Did . . . did we have a fight? he wonders. 

_I’m afraid that would be breaking all the rules._

It _would_ be breaking the rules. He couldn’t invite Crowley over, that would be irresponsible of him. He was an angel, he was supposed to be doing what was right, and he was on Earth now. At least, he was a being of Earth, a being of Humanity. He and Crowley had made a choice-- their side-- and their side was Humanity’s side, and if he was on Humanity’s side, it meant that he must do what the Humans do. And the humans had said Stay inside. Quarantine. No matter that he and Crowley couldn’t actually get the disease, couldn’t pass it on to anyone else, would be a danger to nothing and no one if they sat here in his shop, drinking wine and eating cake and talking. Was Crowley mad at him for it? For telling him to not come over? 

Aziraphale purses his lips, his eyebrows furrowing. It would be just like Crowley to hold a grudge like this.

_I’m setting the alarm clock for July._

How petulant! Aziraphale feels irritable. Irritated. Yes, how very like Crowley. You don’t want to play, so I’m going to go take a nap and ignore you, see how you like it. You won’t give me the holy water, so I’ll see you in about 80 years. 

_I have plenty of other people to fraternize with._

Not anymore you don’t, Aziraphale thinks. Neither of us do. All we have . . . is each other. 

Aziraphale suddenly feels terribly guilty. Crowley had moaned about how bored he was. And he had regaled him with tales of his burglars and how much fun he was having reading books. It was true, he had been having a lovely time reading. And learning to bake. 

It was just . . . just a bit lonely. And he had really wanted to talk, and Crowley had hung up after barely two minutes and said he was going to sleep for two months. 

_Out of the question!_

Aziraphale had been doing his best to live by Humanity’s rules. But the fact of the matter was . . . he wasn’t human. He was never going to be human. Crowley was never going to be human. They were on their own side. And they might identify with Humanity, and they might side with Humanity, but he and Crowley weren’t going to actually become Human. They were still miracling up parking spaces and lunch reservations and, most recently, cherries. 

_Slither over and watch you eat cake._

Watch me eat cake? Aziraphale thinks idly. Surely, there couldn’t be any harm in that, could there? 

Why on Earth would Crowley want to _watch_ him eat cake? Surely there were better things to watch, even in Aziraphale’s bookshop. He did have a television, even though he hadn’t used it in quite some time. 

Aziraphale finds himself staring out the window. He can see the empty Soho streets. He watches as two humans jog past together. Their steps are in perfect harmony with each other. They give the few other people he can see a wide berth. He has no intention of going for a jog, but he thinks of how nice it would be if there was just one other person in his household. Just one person to talk to, to drink with, to bake with. 

He turns away from the window. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop and idle minds are . . . very likely to give in to temptation. He marches back to the kitchen, turns on the radio with a gentle flip of his fingers and begins paging through his cookbooks. Maybe buttercream frosting would be nice . . . 

“. . . it takes time to make a vaccine-”

“You can’t expect people to sit in their homes for the rest of their lives!”

“No one is saying that you must stay indoors, just stay away from anyone who isn’t a member of your family-”

“Not everyone has an immediate family, and you want us to wait-”

“Until there is a vaccine! Fall of 2021 is not-”

“Over a year! Over a year away! You think you can honestly . . “

Aziraphale huffs and gives the radio a stern look. The talk radio snaps off and switches to Tchaikovsky. He sighs wistfully. Fall of 2021. He has lived through longer periods of time by himself. He thinks about the years he spent in the monastery where all the monks had taken a vow of silence. _At least they were still able to eat with one another,_ he thinks somewhat mournfully, his eyes lingering on the piles of baked goods that litter every available surface. He supposes that any modern-day monks would be considered part of the same household. Even if they were still quiet, they wouldn’t be alone. He turns the page in his cookbook, and sees a beautiful cake. There are buttercream roses in red on a cream base. There are intricate green designs piped along the sides that look like climbing vines. It is five layers, each getting progressively smaller. At the top, two small figurines stand arm in arm.

Aziraphale thinks of the joggers he saw outside. He thinks of how he and Crowley don’t fit in with the Humans, the angels, or the demons. They don’t fit in with anyone else. They don’t really have anyone else. Neither of them. _Our own side._

He picks up the phone, listens to the ring, hears Crowley’s voice, gruff on the other end. “Change your mind?” 

“Not exactly, my dear,” Aziraphale says. “But I did have a thought about how we might see each other and not break the rules.” 

“I’m not teaching you how to use Zoom.”

“I have no idea what Zoom is, dear. But I did think . . . would you like to get married?” 

  
FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come find me [on Tumblr](https://thebright1.tumblr.com/).


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